


Between One Year and the Next

by romanticalgirl



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: Steve plans to spend New Years alone. Nat has other plans.





	Between One Year and the Next

Steve opens the door and sighs, his lips quirking up in a smile at the end. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I come bearing gifts.” Natasha holds up two plastic bags in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other. “Plus it’s New Year’s Eve and you’re just sitting around in sweats and a T-shirt.”

“I’m not sure how those track.”

“Well, you told Tony you had another engagement for tonight, which he took to mean hot date, everyone else figured meant something Presidential, and I knew meant you were holing up here by yourself. Little pig, little pig, let me in. And don’t even try the whole chinny-chin-chin thing. Your face is as smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

“How do you know anything about my face.”

“I know things.” She gives him a long look. “Invite me in, Steve.”

It’s the Steve that has him stepping back. He’s used to Cap and Rogers and Captain, but Steve is something foreign in the future he’s found himself in. He hasn’t had the guts to see Peggy yet, and no one else is likely to call him by his name. Not really.

Natasha walks inside and heads straight for the kitchen. The apartment isn’t much, just a place to stay until he figures out what he’s going to do with his life. He has Fury’s offer to work with S.H.I.E.L.D., which is most likely the direction he’ll end up going, but he secretly hopes something else might come along. Something that would let him put the shield down and just be.

“You tried Thai food yet?”

“No.”

“Excellent.” She gets two plates out of the cabinet and takes the cartons out of the bags. She dishes up twice as much food on his plate, then hands it to him. Steve digs out two forks and follows her to the living room. The TV’s on silent, the crowd in Time Square shouting into the screen as the cameras roll by. 

“My mom was there when they dropped the ball the first time. Nineteen-o-seven. She said it was insane. So many people, everyone shouting at each other, hugging each other. Strangers kissing each other at midnight. She met my dad that night.”

“Did he kiss her at midnight?” She settles on his couch, tucking her feet up beneath her. Steve puts his back to the arm and rests his feet on the middle cushion between them. 

“Mm. Got slapped for it too. She was only fourteen.”

“Wow. Your dad was quite the cradle robber.”

“Not really. He was thirteen.” He laughs and twirls his fork through the noodles. “They were both fairly new off the ship. Parents didn’t speak any English. She only knew a few words. Got rocks thrown at her when people would hear her speaking Gaelic. He followed her everywhere. Would stand up to the people throwing rocks at her.”

“And they say that ‘like father like son’ is a lie.”

“My mom was no slouch when it came to standing up for herself. Pretty sure they both had busted knuckles when they finally got married. He wouldn’t let her run him off, and she never really wanted to. They spent every New Year's Eve together from their first kiss until he went off to war.” He shakes his head. “Sorry. Ancient history. Just like me.”

“You’re not so ancient. For all we know, you’re younger than me.”

“Maybe you’re the missing royal Romanov, huh? Anastasia. Supposedly died the year I was born.”

She raises her eyebrows and licks sauce off her fork. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“No telling secrets.” He nods. “I never dealt in secrets before all of this. Not sure I’m good with them. Bu- Bucky used to always tell me I couldn’t lie worth a damn.”

“Keeping a secret isn’t necessarily telling a lie. It’s withholding a truth, or not offering up all the information.”

“Like I said. They’re not my forte.” He eats some of his dinner, his gaze drifting to the TV now and again. He can feel Natasha watching him, the weight of her gaze not heavy, but he wonders what she sees. A simpleton like Tony sees? A warrior like Thor? A figurehead like so many others? “Why aren’t you at Tony’s party?”

“Because there’s only so much Stark I can take, and I felt like lounging around in yoga pants and a T-shirt instead of walking around in a dress that makes it hard to breathe. Plus I get tired of men looking at my boobs.”

Steve smiles. “How do you know I won’t look at your boobs?”

She tilts her head, considering. “I don’t think you’d look at my boobs unless I wanted you to. Or, if you did, you’d feel kind of bad about it.”

“I’m not actually a sexless action figure, you know.”

“I don’t think you are. I think you’re respectful.” She sets her empty plate on the coffee table, then settles back onto the couch, stretching her legs and letting them settle between Steve’s knees. She tilts her heels slightly so they settle on his thighs instead of his groin, and his legs slide down the couch in surprise. “Besides, maybe I like spending time with you.”

“I believe that you don’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

She smiles at him and sinks down further, turning her head so she can watch the TV. “You’re right. I don’t.”

**

Natasha seems content to watch TV, so when he’s finished eating, Steve picks up the book he’d been reading before she’d arrived. She wiggles her toes from time to time, and it keeps catching Steve’s eye, distracting him. He reaches down with one hand and grabs her foot, fingers over the top of it and his thumb rubbing at the arch.

She hums low and stretches slightly, reminding Steve of a cat. He smiles to himself and keeps reading, his thumb and fingers rubbing her toes, the ball of her foot, her arch, her heel. After a while, he sets the book down and takes her other foot in his now free hand and treats it to the same touches. 

“Did you know ballerinas have fucked-up toes?” Her voice is soft, dreamy. Steve doesn’t believe the relaxation for a second. “They wear their pointe shoes and end up losing toenails, bleeding, mangling the knuckles. They made us believe we were ballerinas, but they couldn’t fake that. Couldn’t make it real without damaging our functionality.”

Steve holds both feet and rubs his thumbs up and down her arch, slow sweeps that cause her to shiver. “Do you miss it?”

She turns her head and looks at him. “Pardon?”

“I miss it sometimes. I mean, it’s not the same. Not even close. But sometimes I miss being who I was before. What I was before. I mean, I would have died before I hit thirty, but still. He was real. I guess it’s the opposite for you. You’re real now, like this.” He presses harder on her arches and her eyes fall closed, but it’s not enough to distract her. 

“What about you doesn’t feel real?”

“Everything? Tony said everything special about me came out of a bottle, and in a lot of ways it’s true. I wasn’t anything special before this. The body, the strength, the memory, the strategy? None of that was there before. I was just a sick kid who didn’t finish high school, took art classes when we could afford it, and got punched a lot. None of that is this.”

“You know that’s not true. The brain that’s in there? That was yours. The spirit? The drive? The determination? That’s all you. You can’t make that stuff up, I don’t care how powerful your serum is.” 

He rubs her feet again and gets another shiver, but she keeps her eyes on his to make it clear she’s not letting this go, she’s not going to be distracted. “Do you like ballet?”

“Not particularly.” She moves her feet out of his hands and shifts her weight, kneeling between his legs instead, knees against his inner thighs. “Why? You want to take me out?”

“I don’t think I’m brave enough to go on a date with you.”

“Black Widow’s just a name.” Her fingers settle on his thighs, starting a slow path up toward his hips and then down again to his knees. 

“What are you doing?”

“I know you’re not that naive.” She lets her short nails drag along the soft cotton of his sweats. He can feel the heat of her skin through her thin yoga pants. He keeps his hands at his sides, keeps his eyes on her face, even as she lets her gaze roam all over him. “But you are innocent, aren’t you?”

He swallows hard, loudly, and she looks up at him. Her expression is unreadable, but her eyes are dark in the glow of the TV. Her fingers move up again, resting at the top of his thighs. His sweats don’t hide anything, and he can’t stop his body from reacting, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how embarrassed he is.

“Are you a virgin, Steve?”

“Am I a mission, Natasha?” The question sticks in his throat, and he’s not sure what he wants the answer to be. Yes would at least give him an out. No would mean that this is something he’s going to have to make a choice about.

“I don’t think you are. I think there were girls. Women on your USO tour, maybe. Peggy?” She moves her hand and her fingers trail from the head of his erection down to the base. The fabric of his sweats is damp against the tip. “Bucky.”

He shudders hard, and his cock twitches under her touch. Her fingers slip lower and she traces his balls. He swallows again and he moves his hands to his thighs, clenching them into fists. He wants to say something - _needs_ to - but he can’t think of what to say, can’t manage to say anything at all. She cups him and squeezes gently. He’s hard and his muscles are taut, his breath tight in his chest. 

“Lift your hips, Steve.”

His body reacts. It’s like being hypnotized, enthralled. He lifts his hips and she grabs the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down. His cock springs free and she settles the elastic waistband just below his balls, tight across his thighs. She looks at him, watching as her two fingers rub lightly over the slit, gathering the precome there. 

“I’ve seduced a lot of men.” She keeps rubbing, slow and with just the slightest hint of pressure, snagging on the edges of the slit and sending jolts of lightning along his nerves. “There have only been four that I’ve been with because I wanted to be, that I was with for me, not for someone else’s agenda.”

She raises her eyes and looks at him through her lashes. Her pupils are dilated, her lips parted. She’s always beautiful, somehow untouchable, but now she looks real and human. He licks his lips and swallows again. “Can I… May I…”

“Undress me.”

His cock twitches under her touch and he exhales shakily, trying hard to catch his breath as he moves his hands to her hips, gathers her T-shirt in his hands and slowly, carefully guides it up. She lifts her arms so he can work it off of her, then she settles her hands on his shoulders. Her bra is pale yellow, nothing fancy or lacy. Simple. He curves his hands around her sides, fingers settling between the bumps of her ribs, his thumbs brushing against the underside of her breasts.

“Stopping there?”

“Just appreciating.” His voice is low and rough, deep and private. He slides his hands around her, carefully unhooking her bra. He pulls it forward and off of her, biting his lower lip as the shape of her breasts change without the fabric. 

Natasha is watching him, and he knows it should bother him, put him off or make him embarrassed, but Steve is too much of an artist not to appreciate her curves and lines, the subtle changes of color in the pale freckles scattered across her skin. 

He cups one of her breasts in his hand and holds it, keeping his touch light so the calluses on his fingers and palms don’t mark up her skin. He leans his head in and kisses the rosy tip of her nipple, a brush of his lips that makes the skin react, tighten. 

His cock aches and he can feel it leaking, but he focuses his attention on her. She seems so small in his large hands, so delicate, even though he knows she has the kind of strength that doesn’t come from size or muscles or a serum. 

He cups the other breast, less careful this time, letting the roughness of his hand tease the soft skin. Natasha arches her back and Steve slides his arms around her so he can pull her close, take one nipple in his mouth and tease it before moving to the other. She tastes like perfume and powder, lightly of sweat.

“You did go to the party,” he murmurs against her, catching her nipple on the last word and scraping it with his teeth. 

“For a while.” 

He looks up and her eyes are closed and her head is back, her hair falling against his hands. He moves one up to her neck and pulls her into him, guiding her parted lips to his mouth. It’s slow and exploring, and Natasha puts her hands on his chest, sliding down his pecs until her palms are on his nipples. 

Steve’s hips roll, and she laughs softly, not at all mocking. “You like that.” She leans in and kisses his chin, then back along his jaw, nuzzling under his ear, her breath hot. Her thumbs rub over his nipples, and he can’t help squirming beneath her. “You really like that.”

“Nat…” He makes a noise in his throat at the first pinch followed by the scrape of her thumb. She uses both hands, both sides of his chest, and he sinks down further onto the couch, writhing beneath her. His chest feels hot and swollen and he has to keep flexing his hands where he has his palms on her thighs so he doesn’t grab her. 

His abdomen is a mess of pre-come, his dick leaking steadily. The head is shiny and slick, a string of white hanging from the tip down to the small pool that darkens the hair around his navel, drips down into it. 

Natasha just looks at him, then goes up on her knees and pushes her yoga pants down. Her underwear is wet, and the scent of her is strong. Steve moans and slips one hand between her legs. The wet fabric rasps against his fingertips, and she grinds down against them.

Steve leans in and takes a nipple into his mouth again, feeling her sharp inhale as he pushes the material of her underwear aside, slipping his fingers along her slick flesh.

Exhaling shakily, Natasha lets out a quiet moan, encouraging him as much as her rolling her hips forward does. He lets his fingers part her labia, rubbing the edge of her opening gently.

He licks and bites and sucks at her nipple as he wets his fingers with her, as he slowly pushes a finger inside her. She clenches around him slightly and then relaxes as he thrusts. She grinds down, frowning fiercely as she adjusts, trying to get him to give her more. He’s careful though, not giving her anything to find friction against.

She says something in Russian, and her expression makes it clear it’s not anything complimentary. He moves another finger, scraping it across her clit before he presses it inside of her with the first. Her body jerks as he moves his thumb over her clit, rubbing it with lazy strokes as his fingers thrust deeper.

He moves to the other nipple to tease her there before working his way up to her collarbone, her throat, her jaw. She hums and gasps as his teeth graze her skin, as he works in a third finger and a fourth. It’s only his other hand in the small of her back that’s keeping her upright as she arches away and thrusts down at the same time. His fingers and palm are slick with her and the damp hairs cling to his skin.

“Nat,” he whispers against the hollow beneath her ear, tongue teasing the lobe. 

It’s not a question, but she gives him an answer anyway, words soft through parted lips. “Yeah. Yes.” 

He makes sure to slide each finger across her clit, to revel in the hitch in her breath. He moves his hands to the waistband of her underwear, and with the help of her agility, strips the damp fabric off of her. She settles back on top of his thighs, and he grasps her hips. He lifts her over him despite the awkward angle. 

One of her hands rests on his lower stomach while she reaches between them with the other, guiding his cock against her. Holding her takes no effort, but his muscles are still quivering as she strokes the head along her labia front to back and front again before easing him between the slick flesh and sinking down onto him.

She’s hot and wet and tight, her muscles clamped around him and keeping him from moving. Her eyes are closed and she takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly before looking at him. He watches her, hands at her hips and thumbs stroking slow arcs on her skin. She leans forward and he nearly slides out of her, her body catching him at the head, tight again and holding him in.

The kiss is slow and exploring, but it has a hungry edge to it. Steve’s grip tightens and Natasha hums against his lips. She pulls away and sinks back, and Steve arches off the couch as she sheathes his cock inside her. 

After that they seem to sacrifice some of their control, both of them surrendering to the other as much as they can. Steve leaves bruises on her skin and she digs scratches in his as they move together, point and counterpoint. Steve sits upright and holds her tight against his chest, maneuvering them carefully so that she’s beneath him. He braces himself with one hand on the arm of the couch and his hips snap forward again and again. She wraps her legs around his waist, her heels digging into the meat of his ass. Her hands are on either side of his throat, thumbs tracing his jawline as her nails dig into his neck.

They both breathe hard, staring at one another. Steve doesn’t think either of them blink as they move together, a violence like sparring heating the air. He’s sweating beneath his T-shirt, and the wet red hairs at the apex of her thighs cling to him.

She flips them again, and he finds himself on his back, hands pinned by the wrist. He goes slack under her grip and she makes a low noise as she bites her lip. Sliding her hands down his arms, she traces muscle down to his chest. He jolts as she pinches both nipples, but keeps his arms where she’d left him.

“Nat,” he breathes and she pinches harder, increases her pace as she sinks down on him again and again. 

Her breath hitches each time she sinks down, and her hands spread so her palms are on his chest, her fingers over his sides for leverage. Her soft little gasps are loud in the room, and Steve pulls one hand down, reaching between them to slide his thumb against her clit, working two of his fingers inside her as she thrusts against him.

She stills, then shudders, arching her back. Steve moves his free hand down to settle in the small of her back, holding her upright as she starts to sway. Her orgasm is hot against his cock and fingers. He keeps thrusting into her, his thumb working over her clit as her muscles constrict around him. Her breath has devolved into sharp pants, and her hips roll so she’s grinding down against him.

He curses under his breath in the moment before he comes, hips jerking up as he buries himself deep, his cock pulsing with his orgasm. They keep moving together until she whimpers softly and he eases his thumb away from her clit, slowly withdrawing his fingers.

She catches his wrist and guides his fingers to her mouth, sucking them clean. Steve huffs a rough breath as her tongue darts between them with a quick flick. She reaches behind her for his other wrist and then pushes his hands back up over his head. She leans forward with the motion, her red hair falling like a curtain around them.

Smiling down at him, she shakes her head, the ends of her hair brushing his skin. When she speaks, her voice is deeper than normal. “You’re full of surprises, Rogers.”

“Did you think I didn’t know how to do that or something?”

“Tony could have been right.”

“I haven’t been a virgin since I was sixteen and Bucky took me to a woman of ill repute.”

“Oh my god.” She laughs and relaxes, lowering herself onto him, arranging herself so her forearms are on his chest so she can still look down at him. “Your first time was with a prostitute?”

“You made your living how you could back then. And she was very nice.” He brings one hand up and brushes her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. “I think you were more of a surprise today than I was.”

She shifts, and he’s still inside her, still hard. “Happy new year.”

He turns his head, and the ball has just finished falling, fireworks and cheers on the TV. He brings his other hand to the middle of her back and she sinks down off her elbows, letting her arms slide to the side so her head is resting just over his heart. “You want to tell me what this was about?”

“I don’t always have an ulterior motive.” Her fingers trail across his chest, over his still-firm nipple. “Maybe I just wanted this, thought you might want it too.”

He laughs softly, quietly. He shifts slightly and she reacts, and his still-hard cock slips deeper inside her. “I’m not complaining.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to be alone. Maybe I didn’t want you to be.”

He closes his eyes and kisses the top of her head. “Happy new year, Nat.”


End file.
